Diseased
by Dan Breaddy
Summary: 'It's been 2 years and I'm still not over you. You were my mold, and I should've stopped it, but I was too much in love to care. I'm sorry it turned out this way. I'm sorry you died, Weasley.' Draco talks to Ginny's grave. She talks back. *Complete*
1. Mold

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Disclaimer: You can sue me all you want, but all I have is a pocket full of lint, and even that's going pretty fast. Joking!

Author's Note: just a little ficlet that I thought up @ 11.30 in the PM. It's just something I thought up. No *real* plot, not a lotta dialogue in between characters, it'd be a little hard – you know, it's a one shot.

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Ninety miles outside Chicago

Can't stop driving

I don't know why

So many questions

I need an answer

Two years and later

You're still on my mind

'Someday, We'll Know' by Jonathan Foreman and Mandy Moore'

Mold

"I never liked you at Hogwarts, you know. You were so… so perfect. Too prefect, even for me. Haha, you still can make me laugh. A Weasley, too perfect for me?

"I hated you, even, at Hogwarts. I hated you since the moment I laid _eyes _on you in Flourish and Blotts. You were just like the rest of your kin, red haired and brown eyed little rabbits that made me want to shudder in uncharacteristic behavior. That's how much I hated you.

"And I hated the way you followed Potter around. From the moment you laid eyes on him, it was all him. God, it was disgusting. Did you know what you looked like as you and him walked down the halls, one in front of the other? Pretty pathetic Weasley, even on your standards.

"And that stupid Valentine's, Weasley? We're what, a three-year-old? It sang, for the god's sake! Though Potter turned the brightest shade of red I've ever seen a twelve-year-old turn in a long time. God, it still makes me snicker.

"Bet you were pretty shocked my the Dark Mark during the Quidditch World Cup. That stupid _elf _outsmarted you _and _Harry, but I knew. Father told me. He always told me whatever brilliant plan the Dark Lord had created.

"And even with the rising threat of Voldemolt, you still managed to smile. Did you know how much that annoyed me, Weasley? Everytime I saw it, I swear, I wanted to wipe it off your face, just rip it off and stomp on it a couple times. You were always so cheery and happy, it made me sick. All I wanted was for one day, you would be depressed and couldn't spread the disease called Happiness to everyone else in the damn school.

"You and your muggles, Weasley. That's why you're dead. I knew that you're father was a muggle-loving fool, but I didn't know you were, until that one time in the library. I still can't believe you read muggle fiction. The Chronicles of Narnia? Please. Who cares if they were philosophically effulgent and had depth, they were muggle and they were trash. I still believe that your deformed copy of 'The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe' is still in on that library shelf, third window from the entrance under the book 'Magical Misconfigurations'.

"I hated the way that you could see good, Weasley. There is no good in life, Father tells me, only power, and those that are smart – and strong enough – to use it. Tom Riddle probably told you later on in the Chamber of Secrets, but you were too weak to heed his words, you foolish girl. You'd looked at the heavens and the stars above us and sighed, completely awed. You looked at the smallest of insects and smiled. You were in love with life, and for that, I hated you. I especially hated that one white flower, the pure, innocent one that you always had. What did you call it, the Snow Tulip? Rose, that's right. The Snow Rose. I hated it enough that I poured Unicorn's blood on it one day while you weren't looking. It's blood was from the dead one you found in the forest. I honestly don't know who killed it, but it wasn't me.

"I never lied to Weasley. I would never lie to you. What's there to lie about, anyway? That was the beauty of our relationship, you be brutally honest with your feelings with me, I be brutally honest with my feelings with you, and you could go on hating each other. That's the way it was supposed to go, that's the way it went. For a while, anyway.

"Mold grows, did you know that? If you don't stop it, it grows and overtakes everything. You were my mold. You were disgusting like it, and I should've stopped it, but I didn't. You grew on me. You're stupid eyes and that stupid smile and your stupid happiness, it all grew and overtook me. Thankfully, never enough that I would go out and prance around in the meadows or whatever you Weasley's do. No, the Dark Lord showed me the right path. He showed me my world, a world full of future power, easy women, money, murder, lies, deceit - a world without you. You wouldn't have survived there. I barely am surviving it. And I'm doing fine without you.

"I'm sorry you died, Weasley. I really didn't mean for that to happen, really. I wish I could bring you back, but death is irreversible. And maybe it's better this way. You can now live your life to the fullest and I can live mine in hell. You deserve whatever heaven's got up there for red-headed angels like you, God knows you've been through enough. Life's a bitch, but I'm getting through it.

"It's been two years and I'm still not over you. God, I'm sad. You were my mold, and I should've stopped it, but I was too much in love to care. I'm sorry it turned out this way."

Draco Malfoy paused a second from his monologue, then took out a white rose out of his cloak and laid it on the ground in front of the gravestone. It read _'Here lies Virginia Angela Weasley, age 18. May death only be the beginning to her discoveries. She will be well missed'_.

Then he apparated away.

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Author's Note: Reviews are much appreciated. In fact, I love them. *gives reviews a hug* Tell me what you think!


	2. Cancer

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Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or books mentioned in this story. I do, however, own the White Rose.

Author's Note: When writing this, I didn't intend to offend anyone, by mentioning cancer. I needed to use its growth comparison that's all.

Summary – A ghost Ginny talks from a branch above her grave after Draco leaves. And she's got all the time to do so, because death is irreversible. Companion piece to Mold.

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When I have the chance I want to say to you

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Wishing I could take back what I put you through

I'll never do it again

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We're like oil and water, still we somehow mix

And what used to be broken is somehow fixed

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It's hard to explain

I know some people say

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That opposites attract

If that's the truth then we

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We will be together forever

~ All I Can Do by Jump 5

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Cancer 

Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. Since when have I been _perfect_? I was never perfect, always tripping over my two left feet or tucking my 60% History of Magic paper away in my bag. History of Magic was always my worst subject, partially because, if you concentrate hard enough, Professor Binns voice can be very soothing, and partially because I had always found muggle history more exciting. Did you know, Malfoy, that if we were as advanced as the ancient Egyptians or the ancient Greeks, we wizards would have already found a way to cure the incurable disease, death.

But of course you didn't know that. Nor do you really care, right Malfoy? Never did then, never do now. But think of it, if we could have found a way to cure death, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be a ghost, a spirit, a drifting angel. I could have been at Hogwarts, finishing up my education. Maybe even finishing my book The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe for the fifth time. Yes, it was the Chronicles of Narnia I read, same with The Lord of the Rings, Pride and Prejudice, A Tale of Two Cities, and The Odyssey. These books were all classic muggle fiction I had snuck into Hogwarts for reading over the years, then donated to Madam Pince so that she could use them for later reading. Maybe someday, they'll be in the school library, if it hasn't been destroyed yet.

You were alone at Hogwarts, I saw. You smirked and talked, but your words were empty and you were empty. I saw you just as I saw everyone, for what they were inside. You probably didn't see me, I watched. I was the observer. I noticed things that people didn't, things they ignore or things that they'd never see.

I saw your eyes light up when you spoke to me, and the tiniest bit of blush flush your cheeks. But I was surprised, you saw the White Rose. My White Rose, a fallen piece of star, hidden inside a pure rose. It was a symbol to me, a gift from Daddy. It stood for hope, joy, light, and life. Daddy said that even though I had been tainted, I still reminded him of it. I was his hope, joy, light, and life. The Rose and I identified with each other. We were two stars, shining in a dark world.

And then you came and soiled it. You poured the purist blood on the whitest rose, and it remained. My beautiful White Rose, with the fallen piece of star, stained with the blood from a unicorn. A unicorn, Malfoy, are we really this heartless? You knew that the image disturbed me, that dead, graceful animal, lying there over a dead stump. It haunted my for days.

I screamed when I found my rose. I struck you when I heard that it was you, Malfoy, that had tainted my rose. I cried for days.

But the Rose held on, even though it was covered with blood. And I held on. We were two tainted stars, still shining.

Tell me Malfoy, who is winning this war? The light, or the dark – or should I say the weak and the strong? Each day, more and more die, muggles, wizards, witches. Those guilty, those innocent, and those who defend, they join me by the hundreds. Is Voldemolt reigning, or does Harry still hold out, and my death in vain? Or is it the other way around, Malfoy, does Harry reign, and Voldemolt hold out?

Does life for you flash by, or does each day drag on and on, almost never ending? There are no days in heaven, no nights in hell. There is no concept of time in where I am. Do you miss me or does your mind not give me a thought? Did you come to my grave out of heartbreak, or because this was the day I died?

A interesting thing about muggles is their illnesses that they have managed to find. I always was fascinated by their ailments of the mind, body, and spirit. Coughs, colds, influenza, deformations, chicken pox, mumps, AIDS, albinos, leprosy, insanity, despair, unworthiness, the list goes on and on. One of the most deadly illnesses that a muggle could possibly have was cancer, Malfoy. And there were loads and loads of them, so many that one could have. Cancer of the lungs, cancer of the foot, cancer of the brain, cancer of the tongue, cancer of the blood; muggle doctors poured their lives into saving others that could be saved, holding out hope and praying for the ones that they couldn't.

Sometimes, cancer grows and spreads, maiming parts of the body and spreading to others. It's a painful thing, having it, and it's a painful thing, having it removed. People die from it. And those who live undergo intense therapy to make sure that it's removed. They become weak as blood cells die, they loose their hair under the chemotherapy.

You were my cancer, Malfoy. You were the cancer of the heart. I hated you for the most part, really I did. You were my enemy and I was yours. You annoyed me and I annoyed you. It was a daily thing.

But then, I still don't know what happened. Something changed between us. Maybe it started in you, or maybe is started in me, I do not know, but it was there. It was a feeling inside that changed the way I thought of you, the way I saw and treated you. I didn't like it and I didn't welcome it, but after a while, I gave in. I was tired and wanted to see what would happen between you and me.

It was a cancer. A disease called love ate away at me as I looked blindly at you. Did you ever feel like that, like you were in so much love that you didn't give a care at the rest of the world.

I felt like that.

All the time.

And I still feel it.

I loved you, Malfoy, and I love you still. I probably will love you to the end of time and space, when the sea will crash into the ocean and the sun explodes. You were my hope and life-source. You were my addiction and my solution. You were my everything, my all that I had poured myself into. I fell in foolishly and look where I am.

Then you went away, and I had to face school without you. I had to face loneliness, hopelessness, and despair. I pulled through it and it made me stronger. You liked strong. You liked pretty. You liked smart.

And maybe it was my love for muggles that sealed my fate. Maybe it was my support for all that stood for hope and light that killed me. All I know that I am dead, and I am free. Free. What a wonderful word. No longer am I held captive by your spellbinding eyes or magical words, now I unconfined. Open.

I am dead, and it is a disease that is irreversible, as you pointed out so.

There is good in this world, Malfoy, it is everywhere. And yes, I could see it in everyone and everything, even those whose hope for a good had long since died out.

Thank you for the rose, Malfoy. I would pick it up and kiss it if I had hand to hold, but for now, I think that I will cry on it.

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Author's Note: 

Many thanks to reviewers Tigerlily (I sure will… as soon as the muse gets my fingers on that story!)**, Arianell, Liebling, Pebble of Insanity (**sequal's up and ready for your reviewing pleasure! It's called 'Remember When'**), Darcel, Rainbow Dreamer (**ok, I wouldn't say FULL PLOT. I wouldn't even say A PLOT**), sabacat, The angelic vampire, Crystal **(I myself have no idea how she died. I just needed her dead)**, and Audreetee.**

As always, reviews are appreciated. Smoky the Bear extinguishes flames and fines flamers.


	3. Contagious

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Disclaimer: I own nothing you see here.

Author's Note: I finally sent this thing out to my beta! I was hesitant that a beta-ing would ruin the emotion, but she _totally_ understood and was very careful proofing it! She's the best. So here you have: The edited version!

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'Cause your presence still lingers here

and it won't leave me alone.

These wounds won't seem to heal,

this pain is just too real,

there's just too much that time cannot erase.

~ My Immortal by Evanescence

You love a girl, not because she is beautiful,

But because she sings a song only you can understand.

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"When I think of your smile, Weasley, I smile too. You could do that to me, just like you could do it to everyone else. It was your sincerity, your placidness, and the utter natural beauty that radiated out of your simple smile that sought to infect everyone else around you with your charm. Even though they didn't know why, they would smile in spite of themselves." Draco Malfoy paused sweeping the black hood of his cloak away, exposing his pale face. He looked at the shiny black stone and sat down, his image mirrored off its smooth surface. He saw a haze beside him, reflecting off the surface of the stone. It did not go away

"It was contagious.

"That's why I hated it when you cried. That's why I fidgeted when you frowned. To see anything on your face that _wasn't _a smile made me feel uncomfortable. And that's all I ever saw when I talked to you. A smirk, a frown, a trembling lip; I could never stand to look at your face distorted like that for more than a few moments. And so I always walked away, under the impression that you weren't important enough to hold my attention for more than a few minutes.

"You hated me for it. You hated it when I made you feel like you weren't worthy. You hated it when I acted as if you were inferior to me. You hated it when I brushed your second hand dirt off myself. You hated it when I acted like I was better than you, and that I was superior to you. Like you were nothing – which, I kept telling myself you were.

"But your smile, I couldn't get your smile out of my head. It was like an angel's, with perfect white teeth and soft pink lips. A dimple in your left cheek, but not on your right. The indents behind the corners of your lips that were just right. I can't explain why it was so beautiful, but I wish I had you and could bottle its beauty, containing it forever.

"But I was the only person in all of Hogwarts who was never able to be granted a view of your smile. Throughout my seventh year, I searched for it, meeting on the pitch and at the Lake, and in Hogsmeade and in the hallways, looking for you and your smile. I tried everything, being classy, suave, subtle, sexy, comical - even. But you refused all my charm.

"When had an innocent wondering evolved into an obsession? I knew that whenever I wasn't around, you would smile, and everyone but me would feel its beauty and its grace. I knew that it would happen, and Malfoys have never been very keen on being left out. So I watched you; haunted you. If I couldn't see your smile, no one could.

"And you returned the favour. You looked at me across the Great Hall, worry written across your pretty face. You perceived me between classes, quick darts and suspicious glances. Yes, I saw you. You stared at me during Quidditch matches, and then glanced away when you thought I hadn't noticed you.

"The castle seemed to deflate as the light from your smile extinguished, an unfortunate thing, seeing how Voldemort was running amuck. The morale seemed low, and suspicions and whispers began to float around. He could come to the school and attack, the Slytherins backing him.

"One day, Pansy cornered me in a classroom and accused me of staring at you. Mind you, Weasley, this was almost a month after I had begun this horrid obsession of mine. I flatly denied it of course, but she didn't believe me. She was watching me while I watched you, and she knew that there was something that was not quite right. I assured her that there was nothing wrong, and that I would never stare at you in a million years.

"So I quarantined myself. I withdrew, staring at my plate rather than you during mealtimes, looking at the wall as I walked past you, and staying as far away from you as I could during Quidditch matches. I missed you, but I ignored you as well as I could.

"And it worked. Your smile was restored. The castle returned to normal. The whispers faded away." 

Draco paused to think. He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the gray clouds, and a rare smile illuminated his face. "You were beautiful, Weasley, I don't know if I ever told you that. You always looked like a goddess, who had stepped down from heaven to an unworthy world of sinners. With your ruby red hair, I could spot you out in a crowd easily, it was exotic, and different. It was lovely, but I never told you that. Everytime you walked by, its scent wafted behind you, and it smelt of fruit and flowers.

"Your brown eyes always sought after the positive, they shone in any and every circumstance. They looked at the repulsive and saw the beauty, they looked at death and saw rebirth; they looked at me and saw a soul. They were different shades of brown, a dark ring on the outside and flecks of gold throughout. It looked as if pieces of the sun had fallen out of the sky, and the angels put them in your eyes to shine over all of us during the dark times.

"Four years, and you can still drive a man crazy as if he had kissed you yesterday." He sighed and smiled sadly.

"I miss those beautiful eyes."

"I miss you, Ginny Weasley." His voice cracked very suddenly and ended in a choked sob. Even though no one was around, he still coughed it off. He brought his hand up to his own eyes, and his fingertips were moist when they came back down. He wiped them on his black cloak.

"I miss you like the sun misses the moon and the stars miss the sky. I miss you like the sailor misses the sea and flowers and trees miss the earth. I miss you like the dark misses the light and the chocolate truffle misses its cherry. I miss you more than anything I will ever miss in this world, and in the world to come.

"I wake up every morning, knowing you're not here. I wake up every morning, facing the life I chose to live. I wake up every morning, knowing the person who is sleeping beside me isn't you, and never will be.

"And I'm sorry you died. I'm sorry you had to suffer for eighteen years and live with what my father did to you. I'm sorry you had to go through the Chamber of Secrets. I'm sorry about all the times I made fun of your hair, or your second-hand robes, or your hand-me-down books at school."

Ginny Weasley, forever eighteen, whose red hair had been reduced to the color of a dried pink rose, wiped an opaque tear that slid down her white cheek. She slid her hand into Draco's, and silently sobbed. He did not notice the ghost tear in his right hand.

"Sometimes, I feel the sun peaking out behind black clouds of doom and death, and I know you're out there, waiting for me, and you're smiling down at me.

"And maybe someday, I'll finally get to see your smile for myself."

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Author's Note: **Much thanks to the girl in the D/G Yahoo! Shippers group who said that my story was the best D/G she's ever read, jane-valar, Sokorra Lewis, Amy-Jennifer, and Arianell** (shouldn't you be working? Lol… thanks for the comment that this is your fave (Mold is the first chapter). This 14-year-old is unworthy!)

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As always, please review.


	4. Deceased

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Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize and nothing that you don't. (Characters = J.K. Rowling, Song = Michael W. Smith, non-existent plot = mine!)

Author's Note: This is the explanation of how Ginny Weasley died. It doesn't have a lot to do with the whole sickness theme that I've been using to write the story, but it's more of a final thing.

Dedication: this story is dedicated to jane_valar and Arianell, faithful reviewers who have reviewed THE INSTANT I CAME OUT WITH A NEW CHAPTER AS IF THEIR COMPUTER WAS ON FIRE AND THEY COULDN'T REVIEW FAST ENOUGH since chapter one.

Please Note: If you did read this chapter before I took it down, I revised it a bit. It's not so vague, and it's a bit angst-er now.

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This was her time

This was her dance:

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To live every moment - 

Leave nothing to chance.

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She swam in the seas,

Drank of the deep.

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Embraced the mystery of all she could be.

What if tomorrow –

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What if today –

Faced with The Question,

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What would you say?

- 'This was Her Time', Michael W. Smith

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Deceased

Four years ago. To the day.

In fact, Draco, had you come ten minutes later to visit me, it would've been to the _hour_. Another forty and it would have been to the _minute_.

At 7:40 PM, on March 31, I died by the wand belonging to Pansy Parkinson outside the Forbidden Forest.

You should remember. You stood there and watched me fall.

The Forbidden Forest had always been an enchantingly haunting place. A place to experience nature, all the beauty, and all the danger that was associated with it. The trees in the forest made you feel humbled; the dead stumps reminded us to appreciate life. The animals, with their curious and innocent nature, observed you with their watchful eyes. It was a place of solitude and quiet.

It was a place where one could escape, and forget.

It was, until you attacked.

The entire castle was captured, and we fought wearily, all the while waiting in hopeful anticipation for help to arrive. We were not ready, I'll admit, and you and your fellow Death Eaters knew it.

It was all the muggle born students first. You took Colin and his brother; they were pale and paralyzed with fear. They were some of the oldest students taken, and they tried to be brave for the first and second years. I watched as one hooded character, his robe flapping behind him walk toward Colin as he lay on the ground, and step on his camera. The lens broke with a shatter, and his heel grounded into the shutter. All around Collin lay dead students, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs. No Slytherin littered the ground, I noted.

Why, Draco? Why them? They could not choose whom they would be born to be; they could not choose their bloodline. They did not_ ask_ to become a wizard or witch; they did not deserve an _Avada Kedavra_. Why should they have been punished for something they had no control over?

I was next.

Unlike the muggle born, I had a choice. We all have a choice, Draco, we all did. When Voldemolt rose, we all faced a decision, the answer would test our beliefs, make us act on our words. You chose the path that had been predestined for you; I chose the path that had long been encouraged for me. They did not meet up.

I was in my final year, the long anticipated seventh-year, and was walking to the library. The library, especially the small, abandoned muggle fiction corner, was always my escape. You knew because you watched me there. I know because you told me.

They went up behind the group that I was with and grabbed us. Not even out of our school uniform, you played the advantage of surprise, and took the group by force. You took everyone with you, and brought us outside. Your Death Eaters took our robes and wands, any jewelry and charms we might've had, and pocketed them.

They brought us out, and lined us up. They all wore dark hoods and robes, and always looked down, so their faces would be hidden. Their backs were to the setting sun, casting long shadows on the ground.

"If you value your life, you will leave the side of the weak and join us to rid the world of its impurities," the head hood spoke in a loud, commanding tone. We all looked at the hood, wondering which former student it hid. Behind him lined up Death Eater beside Death Eater, all watching us. In their right hands, they held their wands.

"Before you now, we give you a choice. If you want to save your life, join us. If you want to die, refuse."

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Die.

Death. It never seemed to frighten me. Dad used to say that people, even people like wizards, are scared of death because they do not know what happens after death. He told me never to mistake ignorance as fear, and I never did. I never held the things of this world too close to me, never hoarded them to myself and try to gain more and more. I valued my life, respected it and honored it, but it never held it close, and I was willing to loose it, it necessary.

I was not afraid to die.

The head hood turned to face James Canter, a shy, cowardly third-year Hufflepuff. Ron often told me that he reminded me of a Death Eater named Peter Pettigrew, in that he was always hiding behind someone who was popular, or smart, or athletic. Ron also told me that Peter had underhandedly framed Sirius Black for the murder of, what was it? Twelve people? with one curse, and that Peter Pettigrew was an amimargius, under the alias of Scabbers. He looked at the ground, and then stepped forward. He mumbled something.

"SPEAK UP!"

"I – I join you," he managed to squeak, which did not surprise me. One Death Eater immobilized him, and he lay on the ground, frozen. The fear on his face, however, he could not mask before they paralyzed him, and one could clearly see it on his facade.

Then they turned their attention to me, standing right next to him.

Unlike Canter, who joined you to save what little life you could guarantee him; I would never back down. My heart was jumping inside me, and blush flushed my face, but I set my chin as firm as I could and held my head high, like I had been taught. I looked at the setting gold sun one more time and at the forest behind me, and took a deep breath. 

"A life with forgotten values is no life at all," I said, a saying mum used to tell me, in a voice as loud as I could and as calm as I could possibly muster. I never understood why she told me this, up until that moment. There was a strange peace inside of me: I had made my decision, and I would die because of it. It was simple as that. 

They were silent, and the head hood flipped down his mask. You stared back at me with a stony, impassive face like I remember, but caustic, livid gray eyes. They asked me questions, they pleaded with me to change. I drew a breath, but never did my mind change.

"We came for the students, weeding the weak from the strong. We did not come here for a lesson, _Weasley_," you said, spitting out 'Weasley'. I did not care; Weasley was a name that I was always proud to call myself.

"This is still a school, Malfoy. I thought that you walked away knowing at _least_ that little bit," I replied calmly. My fists were clenching at my sides, my nails squeezing my palm. You looked at the noble castle, small pieces of it gone. Its towers, worn by age and weather, were welcoming, and strong. It stood tall, a magnificent piece of work, breathtaking and beautiful, surrounded by a scenic, placid lake and a mysterious and perplexing forest on the other. In the distance, three different sized hops stood erect, their house banners burned, and cinders on their end, encircled by towers with flagged, pointed tops.

"Not for long." You smirked and looked at me, and for a minute, I thought I saw a bit of regret, and concern. The cool, evening wind picked up a piece of my hair and carried it, and together, they danced.

"So you have chosen death?" you asked with the cold, cruel, cutting voice that still haunts my dreams and nightmares.

"Haven't we all?"

Pansy Parkinson stepped forward, her hood tucked under her brown hair. She raised her wand and yelled the words of death, killing me before you could. A simple A_vada Kedavra_, a bright flash of green light, and I knew I was gone. Dead. I didn't move, or duck, and try to escape it; I stood still, proud, unwilling to change.

The beam of green light hit my chest. It felt like an explosion in my chest, my insides churning and burning. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I could feel my lungs excruciating being squeezed as my last breath escaped me, and my eyes rolled painfully into the back of my head. I was dead before I hit the ground, and I crumpled into a heap, my back arching because of my bent knees and feet. My soul escaped like a whisper of a breeze, a peaceful feeling floating inside me.

Scary, how we work so hard to bring forth life to this Earth, to keep it alive and protect it, only to have our struggles concluded with two simple words. _Avada Kedavra_, like a raspy breath or a desperate gasp for air. No last words or second chances. Not another breath.

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You're sleeping now. I'm watching you inside a dark apartment; a girl sleeps on your right side. The moonlight seeps through the blinds that cover the window, bathing the room in a pale, white glow. Is that girl scared of you, Draco? Does she know that she lies next to a murderer, a killer, a _Death Eater_? Does she even know your name?

I don't know why I came to visit you; I cannot fathom how love works; no one can. It grasped me in a way that I abhorred it and welcomed it at the same time, reason's small voice filtering through my thoughts. It turned a blind eye; it made me do the unthinkable: it told to look again.

Love plagues the mind, supplying visions of imagined perfection and events that would never happen, and encourages us to seek them, knowing all the while we will never find them. It is the force that gives hope, brings life, but it the very same force that tears apart and destroys.

And I apologize Draco, like you have done to me. I'm sorry if I'm your nightmare. I'm sorry if my immortal eighteen-year-old self haunts your thoughts, if I pain you to live. I'm sorry if you feel drawn to visit my grave year after year to remember me, or if you feel obligated to pay respect, I'm sorry that you can never have me.

We were not meant for each other. I loved you, and I will love you until the end of time, but you were not for me and I was not for you. We were too different to be together long, there were too many things that we could not ignore. It was a harsh reality, one that I can never, fully accept, and yet have to live with for the rest of eternity. I could feel it – and I perceive that you could as well - during the short time that we were civil to each other. It was there, and I never wanted to recognize it. For some naïve reason, I thought that if I pretended that it wasn't there, it would fade away. I was always reminded that I thought like that, simple, like a child.

I forgive you. I forgive you for all the times you made fun of me with your cutting words, or teased me with taunts, and for all the times you provoked Ron to fight, and all the detentions he received and points that were deducted from Gryffindor. I forgive you for your haughtiness and arrogance, and I forgive you for making me prove that I was worthy enough – that I was good enough, and up to your standards. I forgive you and your father for the diary, and for all the nightmares of Tom, and I forgive Pansy for killing me.

But forgiveness is flawed because we ourselves are flawed. I want you to feel pain; I want you to feel regret. I want you to have to live without me, much as I want to live with you. I want you to feel remorse for all the times you acted like I wasn't deserving enough, that I was scarred because of you from the moment I entered Hogwarts. I want you to feel like you are held responsible for your Father's actions, or for Pansy's.

I want your conscience hound you down; to hurt you, to pain and bother you - to kill you a million times more than I ever could.

I want forgiveness, but I want justice.

This is the contradiction, the conflict that I have to live with: the paradoxical love and the hatred of you. The disgust of you, and the longing for you. The need for forgiveness and the need for justice. It torments me; you are just out of my reach, and yet, you were never within my reach.

And then there were sometimes that felt as if you were in my secure grasp, and I would never, ever let go.

I'm sorry that my tear landed on you, your pale chest obscures the opal tear. You will become wet with these small pearls; they aren't stopping. You'll wake up soon, I know you will. You'll awake, and see me hovering above you, looking washed, worn, opaque, tired, and wonder why I'm here. You'll wake the sleeping girl beside you with your talking. One quick kiss and I'll leave, I swear I will.

I'm sorry that you have to live like this. I'm sorry _I _have to live like this. I'm sorry I'm not here for you. I'm sorry you can't hear what I'm saying. I'm sorry that I cried.

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Another tear falls…

~*~*~*~*~*~

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Author's Note: Thank you to all who reviewed Chapter 3, especially Little Tina (I love fics like that! You're like 'woah', and kinda shaken up, and it stays with you**), jane_valar (**you added me to your favorite's list! I'm touched. Also, did you see the dedication? It's to you and Arianell.**), Arianell (**to your questions: **1)** I think I'm going to end the story @ 6 chapters, the next one will be Draco's little spiel, though most of the things he'll talk about have already been said. Maybe he'll talk about seeing Ginny die… I dunno. Originally, I planned on this chapter as being her talking about Draco's eyes, but there were so many people wondering how she died, I changed it. Rather dramatic, doncha think? Thank you! (it's always nice to hear praise from reviewers, especially if they're older than me) **2)** Draco might be able to see Ginny if he tried, and I'll write a chapter where he does. I think that he closes his eyes a lot, and he can see a picture of her in his mind. It doesn't matter; she looks EXCATLY like she did when she was 18, even though she should be… oh… 22 years, by my calculations. *isn't very good with dates and all that* **3)** I know he feels something when she's around him. Yes. I do think that they'll be seeing each other in the near future. CHECK OUT THE DEDICATION!**)** **eviljinxypoo (**Yes, I have a dimple in my left cheek and not my right. Also, my birthday is on March 31, the same day as Ginny's death day. A girl in my class said EXCTLY the same thing that you did, that I should've left out the truffle thing, and she made a comment about my dimple.**), Amy-Jennifer, Sokorra Lewis (**gr… optimism = very bad. Note to self: must make it way more angsty…**), celeste** (aw… you don't bother me! I love talkin to people I'm not personally acquainted with!**), Leuca (**don't say things like that! Your story's good, raw emotions and feelings. A lot of beginner angst-writers focus on tragedy and forget the emotional part of romance. And besides, Diseased is just a buncha fics I reworded so they could fall under 1 plot. It's ok by me if our stories resemble 1 another, I can't do anything about it since it's not mine to begin with *coughDevilzzzcough*, so I don't make a big fuss outta it. Keep writing**!) Lady Megan**, **Dracos lil baby girl (**uh… if I did even try to publish it, Rowling could sue me BIG TIME for copywrite infringements. But thanks, I've had a lotta people tell me I should publish some of my work, and I intend to sometime. I'm uh… sorry? I made you cry and broke your 'no-tears' record, a lotta people tell me they cry when they read my stories… maybe Angst isn't Rowling's best genre to write under. She's really good about novel lengths, though**)** **and Kyma.**

Please, please, this author is unworthy of your gracious, long review.

Review review review review review review review review review review **review review**


	5. Remission

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Disclaimer: I do not own any character, places, or anything mentioned in this story and am making no money @ all.

Author's Note: Usually, the chapters take place one year after the last chapter. This chapter takes place 1 day after Deceased.

Thank you to Sokorra Lewis for the idea for this chapter. Or, @ least for being on the same wave length as me.

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I remember what seems like yesterday

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Couldn't hear your voice but I knew you were there

You were always listening, listening to every word I'd say

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Your heart was fading and I wasn't there

You were at the other end

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Couldn't speak, but I knew what you'd say

Couldn't hear your voice but I could hear you say:

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'I'm gonna see you in a little while'.

When I die I'll see somethin' beautiful

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Come and see me sometime

May the heavens hear all I have

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I'm countin' down,

Countin' down the days.

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You're the one who taught me how to listen, how to listen

Now I'm waiting for the day, the day to come

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When I, when I will be with you

I know where you went; I know where you are

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I know who you're with 'cause you're just like Him

I'm gonna see you in a little while

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When I die I'll see somethin' beautiful

Come and see me sometime

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May the heavens hear all I have

I'm countin' down,

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Countin' down the days.

Echo in me, echo in me,

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Every day, every day

that by without you, echoes by without you.

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Goodbye, I love you

Come and see me sometime

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Goodbye, I love you

Come and see me sometime

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- Countin' Down the Days by Pax-217

You never appreciate what you have

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Til it's gone.

=====

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Remission

This time, he started off with a smirk of the lips, reminders of how he had _always_ greeted her. Cocky and arrogant, knowing and lazy, like he had been so many years ago.

"You must think, Weasley, for some reason, that I am a heavy sleeper," he said, his sneering mouth growing wider as he talked to the headstone that he had visited just yesterday. He could see his reflection on the gleaming stone in front of him and a slight blur behind his picture, framing his face. "As a matter of fact, I am not. I rarely sleep anymore anyway, and find my strength in resting or meditation." He narrowed his eyes and the corners of his mouth fell into a semi-scowl. It added years onto his handsome, twenty-three year-old face.

"You think I can't hear you, Weasley; that I'm not listening when a ghost speaks. You must think that I have no six sense. You're wrong; horribly, horribly mistaken. Some of my best spies are ghosts, I won't tell you which ones, since you might be spying for Dumbledore. 

"I heard you last night, every letter of every word of every sentence that you dared to speak." He paused and took a deep breath, forcing himself to ignore the fact that she could hear every word that he said as well. "You're very lucky that no one caught you when you came, or no ward alarm sounded, but you were always one step ahead when you had a plan." He finished and took a breath, looking from side to side of the long row of headstones. He was the only one in the row. Satisfied that no one else was listening, he began to speak again.

"The Forbidden Forest was a mysterious, foreboding place – the perfect place to die. It instills fear in the first years, myths, legends, and stories springing from the eleven-year-old's infinite imagination. The creatures that make their home in that dark forest are fearsome and ferocious. They are cunning and wise, to be feared and revered. There are forces in that forest that are not to be reckoned with. Creatures that even Death Eaters avoid.

"We apparated into Hogsmead and walked up from there, hidden – of course – by spells and cloaks. A spy on our side had said that Harry Potter would be there, and that night was an opportune time to try to finish him off. Most of us were able to walk right into Hogwarts' doors; we had been students up until a year ago. From the aroma that wafted from the castle, we could tell that you had just eaten, and we were tempted to sneak into the kitchen for a spot of food, although, no doubt one of the house-elves would alert the headmaster of our occupancy. We assumed the majority of you would either be in the library or in your common rooms, which you were, basking in the false security that Hogwarts offered. It was almost disappointing, the way that you had simply let us walk in. The lack of challenge made us weep.

"The names of the Mudbloods, Muggle sympathizers, known members of the Resistance or those who had relatives in the Order were handed out. This was the List of Death. Another list with the names of people whose children were loyal to the Dark Lord was also handed out, and I instructed that these children were to be taken from the school and not to be harmed.

"Nobody noticed the suits of armor stirring behind us, one disappearing from its spot, and the others nabbing Death Eaters in the rear of our procession until seven had gone missing. Nobody noticed the empty portraits and frames until it was too late. They had alerted the Headmaster, each house, the Ministry, and the Order, all without the students' knowledge or our knowledge.

"We followed the mudbloods around, waiting until they were alone, not wanting to alert the other students of our presence. We took them from the behind, caught them by surprise. We took their wands and robes, their jewelry and their school supplies. They went without a fight, without protest, without looks of hatred or fear. They lined themselves up and stood tall – proud, I suppose, of their filthy background. Their faces were blank; they did not respond or retort when we insulted them. Their leaders were obviously a tall Gryffindor boy with a camera around his neck and wavy blonde hair, a seventh year, who faced me with such a glare that even I took a step back. His brother stood next to him at the end of the row, and together, they gave the rest of the prisoners a calm and strengthening aura. They were not fun toys to play with, manipulate, and then disposed. We killed them, and they did not beg for mercy.

"Don't be naïve, Weasley and don't play me for a fool. A Mudblood would not last a moment in a house of such prestige as ours. There are no such things as a Mudblood in Slytherin, such a thing does not exist – and if it does, it will not for long. Slytherins are pure and pedigreed, with a reputation - a threat of sorts - in their name. No Slytherin that has ever been born was a mistake; each child carries a purpose, an expectation to further their family's name to other wizards. Every Slytherin youth was paired up with another Slytherin child early on in their life, in order to produce, from them, the perfect child, one with specific traits and appearances. Each Slytherin family is to be devoid of silly emotions like love, want, hope, or pain, loyal only to the Darkness and the Dark Lord, forsaking their spouse, children, lifestyle, house, and name, if necessary. This is what is expected of every Slytherin. There are no exceptions.

"There are no Mudbloods in Slytherin.

"There were, however, those without pedigree in the righteous Hufflepuff, the learned Ravenclaws, and the brave Gryffindors. They were mistakes. Their magical abilities were an error. They were a glitch, trash needing to be disposed of. They should not have been allowed to study at Hogwarts. They should not have been allowed to live.

"So… they did not." Malfoy shrugged, as if their death couldn't have been helped. He took a breath and closed his eyes, his senses sharpening, trying to find Ginny. What he would do to see her…

Her presence was near, a warm, peaceful feeling, like a breeze across his face. It stung, though, when it passed him. He could sense her emotions as if the wind was her aura. He knew that he had gotten her attention, and that she pined to see him as much as he did.

"The choices we make… how much they affect our life. Wouldn't you say, Weasley? You chose to die, I chose to live. Yes, I'd say that these two, very different choices affected whether or not I would live to breathe my next breath."

The area around him became much colder, and Malfoy wrapped his arms tighter around him and buttoned the jacket beneath his cloak. Even though he wore several layers, he had dressed lightly because of the change in season, and her anger and hatred chilled his very core. He knew who was responsible for the sudden change of temperature.

"Now don't be childish, Weasley, you're not three. Does your infamous Weasley temper remain in you even as a ghost?

"No, the paths we choose never did meet up at a final destination. Yours and mine had an intersection however, and yours sadly, ended abruptly, while mine continued. You might compare mine to the fallen, wide road that many chose, destined for failure that you talked about so much."

He paused to think, crossing his arms and encircling around his bent knees.

"I must say that I was less than surprised and more than disappointed when it was your turn to decide publicly which side you would be on. Your Gryffindor nobility, your daring nerve and brash stupidity really shone through when we asked you.

"Though I have to admit. Your lack of emotion impressed me as much as your articulate words did. I could sense the Death Eaters behind me shaking, muttering. They could see, as I already knew, that you were not afraid to die. And you were not afraid to let us know," he praised her, remembering how she had stood with unmoving pride and conviction, her beautiful face, set in stone.

"You looked stunning in the setting sun, Weasley, you really did. It took my breath away, to see you look so lovely in the face of death. You made the angels sing.

"The golden light from the sun illuminated your face and made you shine like the cherubs, glowed around your head like a holy halo. Your rich red hair, down for once in a blue moon, fell in layers around your shoulders, trailing over your back, down to the hems of your short sleeves. It dazzled like red gold. Missing your darned gray sweater vest, your red and gold tie fell across your chest to your midsection, emphasizing unspoken words. It told us the story of the Chamber, how you had been manipulated, used, abused, drained, and left to die. It told us how scared you had been, how hopeful you had been, how strong you had been. It told us that you had recovered, had healed, bearing your scars with pride and dignity. It told us how you found comfort in your house, your strength and your accountability in it.

"You stood tall and proud, unafraid and not the least bit scared. You gave the others strength, and you hadn't even chosen yet," he said, admiring her as he would a deity or a noble hero – two things that she most definitely was to him.

" "_A life with forgotten values is no life at all_," " he said, repeating what she had said a day and four years ago. "The way you said that did not condemn us, did not glorify yourself. You said it simply letting it speak as your decision, no 'Yes' and no 'No'. No, you were never satisfied with a simple 'Yes' or 'No'. You supplied reason and logic and evidence to back your answer, letting the testimony speak for itself." He felt his hand fall to the ground as a fist without his noticing. Only when it hit the ground was he aware of the sting of pain. But it was nowhere as big of a pain as the pain inside his heart, squeezing it as if in a fist.

"And then I realized something so important, that it revolutionized my life more than becoming a Death Eater has.

"I didn't want you to die.

"I didn't want you to leave this world. Even if you weren't with us, I wanted to know that you were well, breathing and eating and being happy.

"I didn't want you to leave me here, without you." He paused to clear his throat quietly, but froze when he heard a sound. A sniffle, a silenced sob. Then… stillness.

So small was the sniffle and so quiet the sob that he could have confused it with a rustling of the trees or a hiss in the wind.

Ginny.

And she was crying.

'Even now, she cries,' he thought, amazed. His fallen hand, now free from his fist, felt warm, warmer than he did, and he picked it up and looked at it. The tips of his long, pale white fingers were wet, and he could see a cloudy stream run down his fingers into his palm. A ghost tear, he assumed. He brought his hand up to his nose and inhaled it.

Her scent lingered on it, a smell so heavenly and so beautiful that he had to smell it again to make sure it was there, and that he was not hallucinating. It was not musky, like Blaise's, it was not heavy like Pansy's, it was light and intoxicating and distinctly Ginny. It smelt of spring flowers and warm like the Fall. It was as comforting as a mother's hug and as mind-boggling as a lover's kiss. It held love and affection, sadness and pain, promise and hope.

It smelt of everything that Ginny was.

"I flipped my hood down and stared at you, shocked anyway. You stared back and the air between us crackled, but you looked at me as if I was a stranger, or worse, the enemy. Every moment I had stolen, pleaded, and pulled strings to be with you, to be near you, led up to this point. I prayed that you would, just once, change your mind. By the look on your face, I knew my prayer had been unanswered.

" _"We came for the students, weeding the weak from the strong. We did not come here for a lesson, Weasley,"_ I told you, trying to sound bored and disgusted. I was neither. I could hear my heart sink as I said it, stalling for you. Even then, you still managed to surprise me with your wit.

" _"This is still a school, Malfoy. I thought that you walked away knowing at least that little bit,"_ you replied bravely. You talked like your brother, sarcasm and ridiculing laced in your words. Behind me, I could hear someone sniggering. Hurt, I turned and looked at our 'school', or what was left of it. By then, we had taken Hogwarts, setting fire to portraits and flags, stealing the rare tapestries and books as spoils. Chaos reigned as prefects sent messages from house to house, teachers trying to instruct the students to remain calm, though it was hard enough trying to keep the fear off their own faces.

" _"Not for long,"_ I answered amused, the thrill of victory dimmed by the thought of losing you. A gust blew past our faces, cooling my face off, but making you look immobile like a statue. It moved your hair and it swayed with them as if in a waltzing dance.

"I finally asked you, Weasley, blatantly of your choice, a disguised plea to reconsider. You replied with the words that sealed your fate, and Pansy, bored at how long I had managed to stall, stepped forward and killed you as soon as the words flew out of your mouth.

"She hit you and your head flew back as your mouth flew open in a silent scream. You fell to the ground with a thud, your back arched and knees tucked under your body and we moved onto the next student, though my eyes always seemed to find themselves back to your body.

"Afterwards, they moved forward to light the damned on fire. I stopped Pansy who had bent down to your fiery hair, flame lit on her wand. She knew that there was something inside me, something connected to you, and she wasn't happy not knowing what it was or why it was there. I wouldn't let her burn you. I couldn't think of your body disintegrating into nothingness, your ashes scattering in the wind with nowhere to land.

"I took your body in my arms. It was cold and the skin was clammy. Your face was pale and gray and you had lost weight. Your arms fell downward and your neck lolled back like a puppet's. Your legs dangled over my arms and they swayed sickly. It smelt of death. I Apparated to a funeral home, and bought you a coffin to hold you, a dark mahogany one, with a deep red color, deeper than unoxygenated blood, under a brown and shiny glaze. But there was nowhere for you to rest. So I bought the lot in this cemetery, they can be rather expensive on a short notice, but I didn't care. I told your parents in a letter of your death, and how you had stood tall and proud, an example to the rest who had to Choose. I told them not to be saddened but to be strengthened by your example, and sincerely wished them safety, comfort, and happiness, and offered to pay for the headstone and burial costs. It was the least I could do, even though it was next to nothing compared to all that you had done. They accepted graciously, not knowing it was from a Malfoy. I have no plan to tell them, either." Malfoy finished his story and thought for a moment, wondering what to say next.

"It's not enough to just say that I bloody miss you," he began finally. "It's not enough to say that I'm bloody sorry for all those times I acted like a git to you. It's not enough to say that I bloody wish I could have gotten to know you better, instead of just obsessing over you. It's not enough to say I'll bloody always miss you up until the day I die. Nothing's enough to bring you back.

"I loved you, Weasley. I never knew it up until you said you would rather die than live being a Death Eater. I never knew how it would feel knowing you weren't here until you left. I never wondered when I could tell you how I felt about you until it seemed like it was the most important thing to say.

"Understand this, Ginny Weasley. You were my damn heart. You felt for me. I felt through you. You made me feel. I stopped being numb and you stirred my heart to start again. It was remarkable, the way I felt. It was like being able to breathe after being caught underwater. It was like being able to move after being frozen solid. It was like being able to dine at a feast after a fast.

"And I loved you. I loved you from the beginning, even though I thought it was disgust. And I loved you always, even when I wasn't aware, and I didn't want to. I loved you up until the end, when I knew that if I didn't have you, I would die.

"No one chooses who they love. No one gets a say in who they love. Love disguises itself as a great many emotions, each are great and powerful. We are jealous because we love; we can become angry because we love.

"Love is the contradicting voice in our heads, speaking with admiration and affection of you. It hides the flaws, plays off the good in the other. It looks past names, faces, genders, relations, and history, to the very person. Love sees us for who we are, not who we appear to be. Love cuts to the core of us, bringing out the best or the worst.

"And it kills me, knowing you're dead. This is what you wanted, right? Forgiveness, but punishment, just as we hated and loved each other. To have me become alive, only to die again. To have this feeling of utter calm and complete joy, only to have it stolen away. I lust for it, long for its return in the same way I wish and want for you. This – this is my justice, my punishment.

"And I welcome it because the pain – the longing, the wanting, the emptiness, the guilt –they make me feel." He looked up at the tree branch above him. It was April first, springtime, and small blossoms were beginning to bloom on the branches. They were no more than a centimeter long and an inch high, tightly clenched, each petal holding on to the others. He wondered what kind of plant they would produce.

"Did you kiss me, Weasley, when you came to visit me last night?" he asked the cloudless, endless blue sky. "Because I've never kissed you."

He turned and looked back to the gravestone and ended up looking at something very unexpected but welcomed. He blinked once, then shook his head, strands of short white hair falling in his face.

Ginny Weasley sat on her gravestone, her red hair fanned around her shoulders in tendrils. Only that it wasn't as red as it had been, its intensity growing dimmer. Her long legs were crossed, one over the other, one toe touching the ground. He could see not only around her, but also through her, and he could read the inscription on her gravestone through her one leg.

She was still in her Hogwarts uniform, minus her sweater vest, her Gryffindor tie as proud as ever. She still wore her gray knee socks and her black-heeled dress shoes adorned her feet. Her skirt fell over the upper half of her legs and was firmly tucked under her bottom that rest on top of her gravestone. In her hand, she held a white rose and smelled it, a peaceful, placid expression on her face. If she was happy to see him, as he was, she did not show it.

She seemed washed out and faded, and he realized that all color was beginning to waste away, and she would, eventually, turn silvery white like the Hogwarts ghosts, shaded only by the different intensities of white.

She looked at him, her almost colorless lips turning up into a smile, touching her brown eyes. 'So she is happy to see me,' Malfoy though, relieved. He looked at her the same way he had when they had attended school together, with the same smile that had always made her feel lesser than him, the slight upturn of his chin as if he looked down on her.

Her smile widened, one corner higher than the other, turning her small smile into a smirk. She held out her hand and Malfoy looked at it, unperturbed about seeing a ghost appear in front of him. She held a snow white rose, the same rose that he had given to her two years ago, as an penance for soiling her own.

"When you first gave this to me, Malfoy, I could not hold it. And then it died."

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Author's Note: Thank you to reviewers Massao-ne-Mizu, Leanan (You hate Ginny? Wow, she's one of my favorite characters! Welcome to ff.net!**), Julie, On the Outside Looking In (**nice s/n… thief. J/k… have you read the manga Wild Act? It's really good, you should check it out**), MrsSpongeBob333, Liebling (**I'm tellin ya! Gotta go a book with original short stories!**), Arianell (**Well… there won't be a lot more chapters, probably one, and maybe an epilogue**), Amy-Jennifer, jane-valar, **celeste, **crazy eyes **(I didn't mean to make it look like Lucius killed Ginny. I needed her dead for the first 2 chapters, and when I wrote the third, the idea for the fourth popped into my head. Thanks for tellin me though!**)**, **Sokorra Lewis (**Thanks for the idea!**), Polkat, and Darcel (**I'm trying to stay away from Voldie and just focus on Draco and Ginny.**)**


	6. Cured

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Disclaimer: All characters are property of J.K. Rowling. There are various lines from Disney's Emperor's New Groove and other places. I don't own them.

Author's Note: Ok, just for the record, the timeline of the chapters is:

Mold (01): 2 years after Ginny's death

Cancer (02): 3 years after Ginny's death

Contagious (03): 4 years after Ginny's death

Deceased (04): 4 years and 1 day after Ginny's death (takes place @ night)

Remission (05): 4 years and 1 day after Ginny's death (takes place during the day)

Current (06): 4 years and 1 day after Ginny's death (takes place during the day; right after Remission)

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I don't wanna waste your time

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Making ya hang around

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Thinkin' you've done wrong

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You can only wait for me for so long

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But I aint countin on proven nothing

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Cause I know it's always something

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And how you value your time alone

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So I'm outta here

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Cause I know I'm nowhere near

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What you want, what you want

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And what you're looking for

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I don't wanna make you smile

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Only to see it all turned around

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When you decide that I just let you down

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But I aint making up my mind just yet

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How easy I forget

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Just how you add to my confusion

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So I'm outta here

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Cause I know I'm nowhere near

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What you want, what you want

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And what you're looking for

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If I'm breaking your heart

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You'll always know where mine got its start

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It's better like this anyway

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If your world has fallen apart

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Then you'll find me in the dark

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Searching for the right thing to say.

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But I don't wanna waste your time

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Making you hang around, thinking you've done wrong

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You can only wait for me for so long

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So I'm outta here

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Cause I know I'm nowhere near

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What you want, what you want

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And what you're looking for.

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What you want, what you want

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And what you're looking for.

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What you want, what you want

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And what you're looking for.

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- Nowhere Near by Summercamp

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You always hurt the ones you

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Love.

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Cured

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"When you first gave this to me, Malfoy, I could not hold it. And then it died."

Draco gave Ginny a level stare, and she stared right back. He could barely believe his eyes, and blinked several times, breaking his line of vision.

Ginny Weasley sat on her gravestone, she looked exactly like she did four years and a day ago and not a day older than eighteen, but unearthly different. 'Perhaps,' he noted detachedly, 'it's because she is not of this earth anymore.'

She looked faded and worn, and pale; much paler than the characteristic light peach colored skin traditional of a Weasley. Her auburn hair had paled to a dusty rose, her skin was almost as white as his was, and he could barely distinguish her trademark freckles. She was still wearing her old Hogwarts uniform, a wrinkled and well-loved white short-sleeved blouse and a long, stretched-out gold-and-red tie and a pleated light gray skirt. Her gray knee socks fell just under her kneecaps, and she had on scuffed black shoes that were most likely men's and several years old when she had received them.

He ran a hand through his silver hair. It parted in the middle but barely split to either side of his head. For the most part, it remained slicked back, the ends of his hair touching the nape of his neck. A gust blew through the barren graveyard and played with small strands of his hair on either side of his head, close to his ear. It passed by Ginny - or was it through? He couldn't tell - and not one strand moved from her head.

He watched her, mesmerized, as she ran her hand through her hair, pausing when she reached her nape to gather it in a ponytail secured only by her hand, and then released it and let her hand run through it until it reached the ends of her hair. It was not any longer than he had remembered it being, and it fell over her shoulders, almost to her elbows, to the ends of her short-sleeved polo shirt. Her hair was straight and long, curving in with a slight wave and curl at the end. She smiled at him, and Draco swore that she blushed. He blinked and the faint coloring that he might have seen in her cheeks was gone.

The rose in Ginny's hand was not crushed or fragile or browned by the lack of water; it looked exactly as it had when he had laid it down on her grave two years and a day ago. The only difference that he could see was that the white color of the flower, and the forest green of the stem, were paler than he remembered it being.

"Do you want me to get you a new one, Weasley?" he asked, glancing up to look at her. He spoke in the voice that he had used at school, slightly superior, slightly amused. But he knew that if she requested, he would have bought her a dozen more bouquets of a dozen of snow-white roses each.

Ginny shook her head. "This one's fine," she responded. Malfoy smirked at how, even as a ghost, she was content with what she had.

"It's bloody _dead_," he said forcefully. He raised his eyebrows and placed his hands behind him, leaning back on the ground.

His posture gave off an air of calm composure, belying the mixture of raging emotions he felt inside – excitement, yet confusion. He felt like a giddy little child on Christmas morning admiring a stack of boxed, bagged, and bowed presents, with his name on each parcel. 

Of course, that's how Christmas was every year back at the Manor, with his name on every package.

"Is there something wrong with being '_bloody dead'_?" she questioned, faint red eyebrows rising above her eyes as if she was uninformed about something. Her words mocked him, almost, though they were cleverly disguised as an innocent question. His words had offended her, and he was not apologetic about them. The air around him became cold, though Ginny did not appear to be doing anything but smelling the rose. Malfoy locked his arm and stiffened his back, but his appearance never wavered, and Ginny's placid expression never changed.

"It certainly doesn't _smell_ dead," she continued, inhaling it deeply. She closed her eyes and a pleased smile crossed her faint pink lips in bliss. Malfoy took a sniff, but he didn't smell anything that smelt remotely rose-scented. "If anything, death only intensified its sweet smell." She looked up from the rose with a slight smirk. "The same way death intensifies _other _things."

'_Like feelings_,' Malfoy thought, looking at up at her eyes. '_Like my feelings for you_,' he wanted to say. '_Like the words I say to you and the memories I have of you. Like my fears and my hopes and my dreams; they all become more real when you're not here to be in them.'_

He avoided her comment and did not add anything to it.

"Whatever you say, Weasley," he said airily, as if she was a small child whose adolescent games bored him. "I can't smell it, _and_," he said nonchalantly, playing with a piece of grass. "It's still dead," he finished pointedly. He bent it over and it broke. He tossed the broken tip aside.

He glanced up at her, pretending to be bored, and was pleased when she looked annoyed and the slightest bit hurt. But he found himself squirming. He still didn't like it when she looked annoyed and more so when she looked hurt.

"Just because _you _can't smell it doesn't mean that the rose has no scent at all," she reasoned patiently, though her tone suggested the opposite. "Since when have the laws of nature abided by the ruling of Draco Malfoy?"

He smirked at her cockily and she looked at him, apathetic and emotionless. Malfoy inwardly cursed; he had forgotten that charm and suave didn't work on Ginny like they worked on other girls.

Ginny had looked for sincerity over charisma and authenticity over appearance. She didn't care if he was flawed or if he was perfect, if he was rich or poor, famous or notorious; she looked for honesty in a boy, and when he finally told her why he was so keen on her, did she finally regard him.

"Did you hear what I said?" he asked her, jerking his head to the side, trying to fling a loose piece of hair behind his ear.

"What you said just now?" She looked up from her rose, and Malfoy blinked again. "Before I appeared?" He nodded and blinked again when he heard her voice. It sounded more… real. Not so distant, and more human. "Yes."

The air around him had become more fragrant, smelling like her tear had. And Ginny - he swore - Ginny looked almost solid. Her hair became more red; her skin, more flesh colored; her blouse, more white; her skirt, more gray. Her body became almost complete and filled in, almost. She still looked…

… Fuzzy.

"Everything?" he asked. "Everything I said?"

She looked up and met his eyes. Her eyes, which were dark brown when she was alive, looked so real. But they were no longer brown like the bark on the north side of a tree; they were brown like dried grass, tanned, soft, and light-colored.

She smiled again, but it was not gentle. It resembled his, cunning and superior. Malfoy's stomach churned uneasily at what she would say.

"You must think, Malfoy, for some reason, that ghosts have mouths but no ears," she said in a haughty, arrogant tone, her smile growing wider. It touched her eyes and they sparkled mischievously. She was mocking him. "As a matter of fact, we don't. We have ears and mouths, and can listen as well as we speak.

"You think _I _can't hear you, that I don't long to hear your voice. You must think that _I _don't _want _to hear you speak. You're wrong; horribly, horribly mistaken. I've heard every word of every sentence since you've come and visited me two years and a day ago."

"Someone needs a hobby," Malfoy muttered, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Ghosts don't exactly play cricket, Malfoy," Ginny reprimanded sarcastically. "And we see all the latest cinemas on _Starz_ for _eternity_."

"Why don't you play weather man or something?" he asked, waving one hand lazily at the sky. Ginny crossed her arms and held her rose limply in one arm in disgust. "Weather woman then, if you want to be politically correct about it." He grinned acidly at her.

"Honestly Malfoy, you're the same stupid, moronic prat that I knew in Hogwarts! You think you know all there is to being a ghost, to being dead, when you really have no idea whatsoever! I can control the weather around _you_, because I am emotionally attached to _you_!" she hissed at him, her pretty face contorted in anger.

"Oh great," Malfoy muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment at being so ignorant, "I'll have a little gray rain cloud following me around. How kinky," he said, his voice heavy with loathing, making Ginny flush in anger. "It'll look great when I call meetings with fellow Death Eaters."

In a flash, a wave of ice water passed through his head and chilled him instantly. He touched his face numbly, and it burned like dry ice under his touch.

"What the bloody hell did you just do, Weasley?"

Ginny floated in the air above him, her nose close to his. Her face was blank but her eyes were sad. And Malfoy felt sad, sadder than she did.

He was at fault for her discomfort.

Again.

He looked away, but she took one of her hands and grabbed his chin. It was too solid to be a ghost's and too effervescent to be a human's. She brought his head to hers and rested her forehead on his.

"Do you want me to leave, Malfoy, is that it?" she hissed angrily at him. If she could breathe, Malfoy thought distantly, she would be panting breathlessly. Being angry always made her pant breathlessly. Being angry, for Ginny, always involved more than words, as being anything consisted of more than just words for Ginny. To her, being angry involved intellect, much thought, emotion, words, actions and promise.

"Do you want me to tell you that I want you to walk away from this grave and never come back? You don't want me to visit you anymore? Because if it is, go, just go, but don't talk to me," her voice quivered and dropped. "Is that why – because you don't like me – is that why you're speaking to me like I'm… like I'm… I dunno what you're speaking to me like, but the only person who's ever spoken to me like this is…" she paused, and he lifted his eyes to hers. They were captivating and held such immense sorrow that Malfoy found it suddenly very hard to breathe. He watched the corner of her right eye, as a small tear formed and rolled away. He followed its trail until it fell off the curve of her cheek and onto his.

'She thinks I want her to leave,' he thought. Grief flooded through him, pounding over him like an ocean wave, and he drowned, not thrashed, in it. The tear on his cheek trailed down and traced the curve of his jaw.

"- Is Tom," she finished, looking frightened. "Malfoy, if you want me to leave, tell me." Her voice was barely audible.

Malfoy struggled to find his voice.

"Smile, Weasley. You look less ugly when you do," he said grudgingly. Ginny looked at him, her lips slightly parted and eyes narrowed a bit, but one corner turned upward a little. "And quit being so damn daft."

"It's 'Ginny', _Malfoy_," she said, gathering her hair back up in a ponytail then letting it loose.

"It's 'Your Highness', _Ginny_," he retorted, his head cocking to one shoulder. She shook her head. "Did you slap me?" he asked, touching his face gingerly. He didn't know how he looked, but he certainly didn't feel good.

Ginny nodded.

"Damn, that hurt," he cursed.

"Well," she said, biting her lip. Malfoy felt his heart flip uncomfortably. "I did concentrate a bit when I hit you."

"And you concentrated because… because… you got really mad and… you were afraid that… you were going to miss my head with a wide swing?" Malfoy asked slowly and ending hopefully, piecing the words together sluggishly as they came together in his head.

"No!" she laughed. Malfoy's breath became stuck in his tightened chest when he heard her and he froze, just listening to the sound. Her laugher was like a symphony, a musical masterpiece, to his ears. "When I concentrate, I can become… more solid than I am. The longer I've been dead the harder it becomes to concentrate. I can become almost solid if I tried really hard, but not a lot of ghosts like to 'concentrate' because it taxes their brains. Or... er… their heads, if you want to be picky about it," she said, glancing at Malfoy with rolling eyes.

Malfoy snickered at the thought of ghost brains. "So what passed through my head was a semi-solid, ice-cold 'hand'?" he asked, using his hands to make little quote marks in the air with the curve of his fingers.

Ginny nodded. "You can't say that was undeserved," she pointed out. "And it felt bloody good to slap you and see the look on your face!" She giggled and drew her crossed legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, tucking the loose folds of her skirt under her.

"I can sense a massive headache coming on," he said, pressing two fingers up on the sides of his head and messaging his temples.

"You can't say that will go undeserved either," Ginny said.

"It was so damn cold."

"I'm sorry. We ghosts don't exactly come with a central heating system. I have to apologize for the lack of body heat."

He looked up at her, amused and proud. "For a ghost, you're awfully sarcastic," he said, almost sounding impressed.

"Why should we lose our sense of sarcasm when we lose our sense of existence?" she asked.

"Good point. Why?"

"It's a rhetorical question, Malfoy."

"Of course," he agreed gracefully. "What are you?" She looked at him in confusion.

"It's a good think you're really specific when asking questions, or answering that would have been really hard," she said sarcastically.

He glanced at her in annoyance, but wasn't really annoyed. More like puzzled. "You don't have brains, yet you think. You don't have a body, yet you move. You don't breathe, yet you exist. How?"

She bit her lip, thinking.

"My image was preserved in my soul, which never dies. You see me as I saw my soul," she explained to him. "Without a soul, Malfoy, one cannot love, think, move, or exist."

"But the Dementors, their kiss steals a soul, yet the person goes on living," he stated, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"Living and existing are two different things. _Living _means that you eat, drink, and breathe for another day. _Existing_ means that you thrive, you enjoy life, you smile."

"Ahh. That clears up a lot in a very Dali Lama way."

Ginny rested on her headstone and was silent. Malfoy fidgeted on the ground, wondering about what she was thinking.

"Did you ever hate me, Malfoy?" she asked finally in a faraway voice. Malfoy cocked his head and thought.

Of course he had hated her. He had hated her when he had first seen her in Flourish and Blotts, more than ten years ago. She had qualities about her that were so likable that they were hateable, so pleasant that they were irritating, so sweet they were sickening, so attractive they were nauseating. Hatred and annoyance and jealously of her had come naturally for him.

Before he had even met her, he hated her. He hated any of the tall, lanky, red-haired and brown-eyed Weasleys simply because that was they were, Weasleys. He had always been taught that the Weasleys were a disgrace to the name of wizards, a shame to the whole magical community. Their acceptance, tolerance, and even fascination of Muggles disgusted Malfoy, and he had been instructed at a very young age that he was higher than any Weasley, no matter how old or distinguished because he was a Malfoy.

He had hated her hair. He hated her smile and her good nature and her pure intentions. But he was surprised when he found himself admiring them, and that he loved them and was attracted to her admirable traits that he was born to hate. They were the things that defined a Weasley from a Malfoy; the differences that they both held that made them despise and desire the other. He loved her eye-catching hair and her divine smile and her pleasant nature and her honest intentions. And he hated that he loved them because they were what she was, and if he loved them, then he loved her.

And so he loved and hated her.

And he both hated and loved that.

Such was the contradiction that he had developed when he saw her, the liking and the loathing of such an impish angel.

Of course, he did not voice what he had reasoned and concluded. Instead, her counter-questioned her.

"Why don't you make a questionnaire that I can take home, fill out, and bring back when I visit you next year?" he asked, eyeing her huffily.

"Why don't you answer the question?" she shot back, "Instead of answering a question with another question?"

"Yes, I hated you. Why do you care?"

"Do you hate me now?"

"Yes, Weasley, I hate you _so_ much that each year I come, on the day you died, to talk to the headstone that _I_ bought you so I can spill my guts out and tell you just _how_ _much _I hate you."

"Don't be sarcastic, Malfoy."

"Then don't be stupid!" he said angrily, his hands forming fists. "I don't hate you anymore! You know that! I told you! Were you not listening? I do not hate you Weasley, I -" he broke off.

"You what?" she spoke with ridicule and disbelief.

__

'You what?' Her words haunted his thoughts, skeptical and suspicious. What did he feel? _Was_ it love? Or was it something else, something that he had just labeled as love?

Was what he felt more than just words; did it involve his entire being and not only his heart and head. Did what he felt feel involve more; did it involve intellect, much thought, emotion, words, actions and promise?

Would he be willing to put her before himself, her comfort above his needs and her wants above his? Would he be willing to jeopardize his safety to insure hers? Would he be willing to forsake his health to see that she would be kept safe and healthy? Would he be able to never look at another woman, be able to stand by her side even when she was wrong, be able to hold her accountable, and be able to keep this promise for _forever_?

Even if she didn't deserve it?

Because wasn't that what love was all about?

He glanced over at her. She sat on her headstone, one leg crossed over the other and a bent arm resting on the raised knee. Her chin was cradled beside a fisted hand and a look of thoughtfulness and contemplation was on her face. However, Malfoy was also surprised to see uncertainty cross her beautiful features and doubt etched across her face. Her eyes weren't focused on his face, and they had lost their anger that they had previously held. Her face was turned so that Malfoy could only see one side, and she was looking off somewhere to his left, and the seemingly endless row of gravestones.

'Yes,' he thought firmly. 'I said I loved her and a Malfoy does not go back on his word - ever. It's her choice that she chooses to question it.'

"Forget this," he said, shaking his head. His hair splashed around his head, and he ran a hand through it to keep the fine white strands back.

"No," she said, stubborn and childish.

"Why does it matter to you?"

"Why are you so damn scared to tell me?"

"I'm not scared. I fancy it's _you _who's scared."

"Can't you – can't you just let your guard down, Malfoy?" Ginny asked. Malfoy paused; Ginny's question was not the one that he had anticipated. He hadn't even expected he would ask a question.

"Why don't you stop asking questions, Weasley?"

"There you go again, Malfoy! Stop it!" Her hands were balled in fists and she bit her lip.

"Why? Does it bother you?" he asked, sneering, standing up and brushing himself off. He tried not to show that he cared whether it did or not.

"Yes! It makes me question your sincerity!" she answered as she stood up, coming up to his chin. He flinched as if she had slapped him again. Her words stung.

Her feet floated off the ground a few inches and her hair floated behind her as if she was underwater. The air around Malfoy seemed to sizzle and it became very heated. She was emotionally connected to him, and her anger surrounded him. He could almost picture what she would look like if she was really, truly angered, her vision becoming almost red and her face almost white, like a demon.

"You think too much, did you know that?" he asked, avoiding her comment.

"And you don't think enough, Malfoy!" she snapped.

"What's wrong with that?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Nothing, and at the same time, everything!" she flustered, banging fisted hands on her knees. She exhaled a breath and floated backward to her tall headstone, slouching on the top of it. Malfoy grinned at her frustration; she looked so adorably cute, with her pink cheeks and scowl, her eyes pinched in frustration and arms crossed stubbornly. He liked her like this, when she was at her worst, almost as much as when she was at her best. He liked her in any state really.

"Besides, there's nothing wrong with thinking too much, either," she reasoned. "Nobody's ever died because they thought too much, but millions have died from not thinking enough."

Malfoy had to grudgingly admit that she was right. It seemed to always be like that, leaving him feeling stupid and incompetent.

This is something that had intrigued and baffled him greatly when they had attended Hogwarts together. She had a great ability to speak and reason, but had always masked it when around Harry or her brother, almost as if she wanted to appear uneducated. But when she wasn't around them… she was a different person. She unmasked herself and let her tongue flow with the poetry of her mind, smarts beyond her years, and a comprehension of everything, from the function of a rubber duck to why bad things happen. She always had an answer on hand, a response or witty reply on the tip of her tongue, and a reason for everything.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly. He looked down at the ground and shuffled his booted foot, trying to remember what he had been thinking before she had spoken. He looked up at her with a smirk.

"I was wondering what the purpose of a rubber duck is, exactly?" She smiled at his childish question that she had heard him ask more than once before. "Seriously! I mean, it's yellow and so small, and it's rubber -"

"Nowadays, the rubber ducky is usually made out of plastic, but continue."

"And it has no apparent purpose at all. All it does is float around in the tub with that stupid grin on its face, like it likes seeing the bather naked."

"It's to keep the bather company."

"It is, is it?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows. A corner of his lip pushed into his cheek in a half-smirk.

"Yes," she said simply. "Humans long for company, each one of us does. And sometimes having that ducky float in the water, grinning at us, happy to be with us, is all it takes to feel loved."

"Not all humans long for company. Some people are better off on their own, doing their own thing their own way," he said stubbornly.

"Some people _are_ better off on their own, doing their own things their own way," she agreed. "But I didn't say that. I said all people long for the company of another, to be loved and accepted and wanted by someone, and in turn, love and accept and want them.

"Even you, Malfoy."

Malfoy glanced up at her, wishing every bit of his face said "I do, do I?" instead of "Oh shit".

"Must be lonely," she said in a voice that wasn't quite pity. She didn't supply a reason why he would be lonely.

Malfoy shrugged, wishing that he could think of something intelligent and clever to say.

"_C'est la vie_," he said, quoting a common French saying. "I'll live."

"Even if you're lonely?" she asked.

"What am I going to do about it?"

She nodded in agreement. "Does it hurt?" she asked, "To be lonely? I've - I've forgotten how it feels," she explained. She blushed suddenly. "I mean, I get lonely, but it doesn't hurt because I can't exactly feel much."

"Yeah, it hurts. A little," he said, devoid of emotion. He looked up at her with a blank face, like a mask, hiding whatever he was feeling. Ginny felt sad and disappointed when she saw it; it meant that even now, he could not be honest to himself with his feelings and therefore could not be honest to her about his feelings.

Ginny always worked like that. She always liked to know what others were feeling, whether it be anger, happiness, pain, indifference, anguish, fear, sadness, or love. It helped her relate to them better when she could understand what they were feeling, where they were coming from, and what they were thinking.

And right now, she felt as far away as the moon was from the earth, simply rotating around the bigger, more important and more radiant planet, alienated from it, foreign and distant. She was like the moon, small and dinghy, only shining in the night when few would see her reflected light. She was unimportant and dismissed.

And knowing this came great sadness and disappointment. The fact that he had deliberately avoided her probing questions and provoked her to the point where he almost seemed amused; only added and multiplied the growing ache and agony of rejection inside her. She raised a hand and rubbed one side of her nose, her fingertip rubbing the corner of her closed eye, furiously brushing away the little sphere of salt water that threatened to fall. She would not let herself cry. Not now.

"What about you?" Malfoy asked her, and she turned her head and looked at him. A sharp pain, rare for a ghost, shot through her like an arrow and lodged itself inside her body. The boy who sat in front of her was beautiful in a god-like way, almost perfect, and yet he had characteristics about him that were so ugly and so vile that she had _hated _him.

Hate. The ugliest, cruelest, and strongest of all emotions.

The boy had silver white hair, bright like the sunshine, that was brushed back away from his face, and had sharp, handsome features. He had mesmerizing gray eyes like swirling storm clouds and a thin face. His appearance screamed 'Aristocrat', and it did rightfully so. Everything about him, he did with grace, even and especially when he fell. He was calm under any circumstance, talented in everything, and always had the best. Just like a nobleman's son, or a prince.

And in some ways, he was a prince. Sitting high-and-mighty on his throne, he was , self-righteous and self-seeking. He was cruel and selfish, and manipulated and downsized anyone with no regards to their feelings or circumstances.

And if he was the prince, then she was the beggar, who had looked oppression, poverty, and despair in the eye and still was able to find hope for a better day. She was the one who wandered the streets, listening to stories and helping anyone whom asked. She had been taught that no matter how mean or nasty a person could be, they were still a person like her and deserved to be treated with dignity and respect for that simple fact.

He sat on the ground looking up at her, his face blank and his eyebrows raised in question. Ginny couldn't tell if he was sincere or merely asking to pass the time. His words hung unanswered in the air.

"I do get lonely," she confessed, the dull throbbing of pain inside her expanding like a latex balloon filled with human's breath. "But I – I've gotten used to it quickly. I do have all eternity to be lonely." She tried to sound strong but found herself drawn into Malfoy's impassive face, trying desperately to chip away, or even dent, the surface of his mask.

"Oh," he answered, then frowned in thought. "Do you ever think you'll stop being lonely?"

She shrugged, her left ear touching her right shoulder blade. She took a hand and brushed a piece of loose hair back behind her ears. "I might. I don't know." It came out as a whisper.

Malfoy's eyes bore into Ginny's, and she felt as if she had been reeled in by an invisible hook, stopping herself from turning away.

"I'm sorry I died." These too, came out as a whisper, like a rustling of the trees or the faint crunching of grass. Malfoy cocked his head and looked at her through half-closed eyes and a smirk.

Without missing a beat, he responded, "You should be. You forgot me."

"Well, It's not like you'll never die," she pointed out huffily, but with a reluctant smile, grateful that he had not questioned her previous comment. She could never tell if she would regret the words that she said around Malfoy, sometimes he forgot her comments and they passed without a big deal, and sometimes he embarrassed her and teased her. More times than not, he embarrassed and teased her.

Perhaps he was sorry she died too.

Perhaps he missed her too.

Perhaps she was being too hopeful.

"Is it scary?" he asked out of the blue.

"To what?" she asked back, confused.

"To die," he said simply. She shrugged.

"I guess it's the way you die," she said. "Some people are put through so much agony and torture that they beg to die. Some people's deaths are painless and quick." She didn't add on '_like mine_', but was tempted to. "There's no time to change your mind or plea for help. But there's no thinking to it, which is probably better.

"After the Chamber of Secrets incident, my father told me to never mistake ignorance as fear – you know, not knowing what the future will be like. So I never did, and wasn't afraid to die."

"So that's your secret?"

"It was," she corrected him, almost automatically. "That's why I wasn't afraid to resist the Death Eaters. It's why I wasn't afraid to resist you." She looked at him and his back had stiffened, becoming almost rigid. His eyes, however, had darkened considerably.

"You chose to die, so don't blame your death on me, Weasley." He shook his head in a threatening manner. She nodded.

"You're absolutely right. I chose to _die_ because I could not bear _living _with the decision to join your cause. I could not bear the disappointment of knowing that I had failed my parents and siblings, and Harry and Hermoine, and all the people who had spent eighteen years telling me that every living thing was to be treated with the honor and care that you would expect of yourself, whether they deserved it or not.

"I could not live with the satisfaction and mirth of Voldemolt, the man who Tom Riddle grew up to become. I could not endure his baneful smirks and snide comments as I took commands from him, killing off the very things I love.

"But most of all, I could not live with myself. I would not have withstood the fact that I had turned on myself and everything that I had become. I could not stand knowing the fact the actions I would commit were the very ones that I condemned, and that I would become a _murderer_. I would find no satisfaction, take no pleasure. I'd be miserable.

"And for what would I do this for?" She laughed coldly. "To preserve my life for one more day and forsake everything I had ever known to be morally right?

"My choice was cut out for me. I do not hold you at fault."

She looked at Malfoy, who was staring at his hand. She wondered if he could not bring himself to meet her eyes or if he was just staring at his hand.

"Damn," he said, flipping his head up and looking straight into her eye. "I _told _Pansy that we should compose a five page survey with multiple choice answers and several essays, but _noo_, she had to go and say that we had to keep with tradition and raid the castle by surprise…"

"Malfoy!" Ginny screeched with an expression of amused disbelief.

"What?" he asked innocently, recoiling as if she might slap his arm.

"You go and crack a _joke_ after I gave that brilliant speech that I've been meaning to tell you for ages… how utterly classless of you!" she tisked.

"It was beautiful, Weasley, just as beautiful as you." '_And she is very, very beautiful_,' Malfoy thought. She was as breathtaking as the crisp, snow covered Swiss Alps, as gorgeous as a blooming flower in spring, and desirable as the full moon hanging just out of reach from a child's outstretched arm.

"Coming from you, I can't tell if that's an insult or a compliment," she said suspiciously. Malfoy decided against telling her what he had just thought.

"No, seriously, I think you should win a Tony award, it was a great speech."

"Malfoy!" she said, offended. "I was absolutely sincere when I said that. I'm no thespian!"

"Well then, what award is given for good speeches?" he asked irritably.

"The Pulitzer, I think," she said, "Though I'm not sure."

"You should get that too, and the Noble Peace Prize for being so damn irritating during school, being all happy and that."

"I was not irritating!" she exclaimed. "You really think so?"

"You want to know what I think?" he asked her. She bit her lip. "I think that you are the loveliest woman to ever walk the face of the planet. I think that you are an angel from heaven. I think your red hair is not in the least bit ugly and is rather attractive, and I think that your heart is good and pure. I think that you were secretly born perfect and just made mistakes so that nobody would catch on. I think that Tom is a bastard for deceiving you, and my father was wrong to make you experience what you had to in your first year. I think that the short time that I spent with you were the happiest times of my life. I think that it was very noble of you to refuse the Death Eater – to refuse my offer to join the Death Eaters.

"I don't think that I'll ever get over you until I am with you. I don't think that I'll ever meet a woman as smart as you were, or as witty or as sarcastic or as funny as you. I don't think that I'd even want to. I don't think that I'll ever see anyone who can dull your beauty, or whose heart is as big as yours is. I don't think that I'll ever find someone who will treat me like you did, or who will accept me like you did.

"I think that I'll never feel this way for anyone ever again.

"I don't think I'll ever be lonely again.

"I know, however, that I love you."

'There!' he thought triumphantly. 'I said The Words. Now she can't give me any Thestral shit about not loving her.'

Ginny, filled with glee, jumped off her headstone and hugged Malfoy, her arms floating slightly above his neck and her body floating slightly above his. The curve of her head fit perfectly in the curve of his neck to his shoulder.

"You prat, why couldn't you have said that before?" she asked into his cloak. Malfoy shrugged.

"I don't really understand why you made such a big deal out of it myself," he confessed. "If you heard me speak before you appeared, then you would have heard me say it then."

"Yes, but there's a certain thing about hearing those three words - and they are a big deal, Malfoy, you can't just be saying those to whomever you please – that makes it so special that you just have to have them said to your face."

Malfoy ran a hand over her head, barely touching the top of her hair. He did not cringe when his hand slipped into her frigid body, because he did not feel the sudden chill. He shook his head and smiled crookedly, one corner higher than the other.

"Women," he said in mock-disgust. She lifted her head and raised her spirit body so that she floated a foot above him, her forehead less than a centimeter from his.

"Hey," she said, "I happen to resemble that particular remark."

"I know," he said quietly as he raised his head to meet her pale pink lips. They were surprisingly soft and semi-solid; Malfoy assumed she must have been concentrating. Ginny's head tilted, and her body followed suit, lying sideways in mid-air. Her mouth fit perfectly on top of Malfoy's, just as she had fit perfectly in his arms when she was living.

And they just sat there, or in Ginny's case, lay there, enjoying their moment where only the other mattered. Their kisses were innocent in nature and wholly satisfying, each one not wanting to devour the other but to know them better.

Inside Ginny, swelled a warm feeling, it burst, and flooded her like a great sweep of water, consuming her entirely. Her cheeks began to blush and her ears became red, but not in embarrassment. No, she was not in the least bit embarrassed. She was perfectly happy, perfectly content, and perfectly in love.

And there would come a day when time could be forgotten and names discarded, and they could be in each other's company and enjoy each other's presence until eternity came and passed.

And it was that thought, the mere envisage of the experiences they would share, that helped the two to endure the days when they could not be with the other - the hopeful anticipation for The Day.

__

I hold on to the things you said (you said)

I'll be with you, I'll be with you

With you 'til the end of the world

I'll be with you when the sun doesn't shine

I'll be with you at the end of all time

I'll be with you when the stars fall from the sky

I'll be with you

- I'll be With You by the Paul Coleman Trio

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Author's Note: Ladies and Gentleman, I have presented you with The End!

Much thanks to reviewers Teo, Leuca, sAnDie1, Sokorra Lewis (that particular kind of inspiration is the best!**), Liebling (**You're a pretty amazing author too, and nice as hell!**), Massao28, someone (**The flower died too.**), MrsSpongeBob333, jane-valar, and prexus, all who reviewed Chapter 5.**


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